


Throughout Any Universe

by engagemythrusters



Series: Time Loves You [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: (not as much as last time- I promise), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Another happy ending!, COE Fix-it, Immortal Ianto Jones, M/M, Temporary Amnesia, Time Vortex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:10:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engagemythrusters/pseuds/engagemythrusters
Summary: If Ianto had been a bit cleverer along the way





	Throughout Any Universe

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the middle of the beginning of Time Loves You, so you can read the first part there and continue on in this.

“Are you going to look for them?”

The man Louise has decided to call ‘David’ tilts his head ever so slightly as he ponders her question. “I don’t think so. There’s no point in looking for someone if I don’t know who they are. I wouldn’t even know if I saw them.”

She _plans_ to ask what he’s going to do in the meantime, and she _plans_ to tell him that he’s more than welcome to stay at her house, but for some reason, she doesn’t say the first thing that pops to mind. For once, she stops and thinks about what he’s said. Really thinks about it.

“But… what if they were looking for you?” she asks slowly.

“Then I suppose I’d have to wait until they find me, wouldn’t I?”

“Not necessarily,” she says, hopping off her stool as she starts to pace. She’s formulating something. “What if… what if we were able to find a way to get people’s attention. To let people know where you are and stuff, so that the right people will notice…”

He blinks. “Like a newspaper ad?”

She snaps her fingers. “That’s it! We buy a space in a newspaper- it doesn’t have to be big, just enough to show a picture of you, or something- then we let everyone else do the hard work!”

He’s staring at her.

“What?” she asks, halting her pacing.

“You’re serious about this,” he says steadily.

“Of course I am!”

“But why?” he asks. “Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

She pauses. She thinks about her brother, and how much she misses him. She thinks about the potential siblings and spouse and kids this guy could have, and how they could miss him, too. She thinks about how he has nowhere to go right now.

“Because I need to,” she says. “Because I don’t think I can sit idly by and not _do_ something.”

She watches as he considers both this and her. After what feels like ages, he gives a slight nod and sighs. “Alright. But just one small ad.”

She almost says, ‘thank you,’ but that would make no sense. So, she asks instead, “What newspapers do people read? I don’t… really read them. I kind of just get news via word of mouth.”

He points at himself. “Amnesiac, remember?”

“You said you know basic things,” she accuses.

“That doesn’t mean I know which newspapers people read.” He frowns. “Maybe I did something in the news, and that’s why I can’t remember.”

“It’s possible,” she says.

With no further insights, they end up looking up newspapers in Cardiff. When she selects a one at random, he protests once more. She assures him she can absolutely pay for this, and this is her choice. She’s going to do it anyway, so just let her! He shuts up after that, thankfully.

They’re stupidly far along in the process before they realize that they don’t have a picture of him. She rushes upstairs to dig through one of the many boxes in her spare bedroom for her brother’s nice camera. They take twenty before she finally gets one that isn’t blurry (her photography skills were always atrocious), and then it takes forever to get the damn photo onto her computer. She adds a caption of ‘do you know this man’ and ‘contact Louise Bevan’ under the ad, and then they’re done.

He thanks her very profusely for this, and again when she lets him stay with her until someone finds him. She finds herself blushing at the sincerity in his tone, and thinks she’s beginning to develop a crush on him. Which is completely ridiculous, because she’s just met the man. But still… if he went in for a kiss, she would wholeheartedly return it.

After, she sends him off to bed in the second bedroom. He asks about her brother, and she talks about David, _her_ David, for the first time in months with someone who doesn’t make it feel so shitty and horrible. They agree to keep calling the man ‘David’ until someone shows up to get him and tells them who he really is.

Then she hurries back down the stairs to add more ads to more papers, just to make sure that someone who knows him sees it. It would be really awful if no one came for him because they’d only sent it to one paper. She sends a few more to the ones in Cardiff (not the one that’s only in Welsh; she doesn’t know much more than one or two greetings and how to ask for the loo) and to one paper each in Swansea and Newport, just for good measure.

Emailing the bank quickly that she has the flu and won’t make it in to work tomorrow, she shuts off her computer and goes to bed. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t dead tired.

The next morning, David cooks and impresses her with his fine coffee-making skills. His breakfast is… a little on the charred side, but she absolutely adores that cup of coffee. He seems pleased that his skills could bring such joy, and it makes her wonder if he worked in an office.

“You know. A PA or something,” she says, taking a sip of the heavenly coffee. “Make coffee all of the time, and now you’re a pro.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Speaking of work, why aren’t you at yours?”

“Just making sure no one comes looking,” she says.

“Why? Paper’s not supposed to print until Saturday.”

“Then I’m keeping you company.”

“You don’t have-”

“I know I don’t have to,” she snaps. “I _want_ to.”

“Oh.” He looks at her, lips tightly pressed together.

She sighs. “Sorry.”

“Long night,” he says, shrugging. “I get it.”

The rest of the day is long; they get bored almost instantly. A few rounds each of multiple types card games covers a good few hours, and she’s shocked that he can actually remember how to play most of the games. He’s good at them, too. Like, really good. But they run out of card games quickly, and they move on to watching documentaries. She’s surprised and glad that he seems to enjoy them as much as she does.

They order Chinese for dinner and eat it while watching a documentary on space. This leads to a rather heated debate about alien life. She’s not exactly sure what to believe. On one hand, there could possibly be life on other worlds. There’s nothing to say there shouldn’t be. On the other, if there is, why haven’t they contacted Earth yet? And why is there no proof of this life? He seems to be set quite firmly in his beliefs that other life does exist.

Upon asking why he thinks this, he replies, “It just makes sense.”

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that ‘it just makes sense’ isn’t a logical argument, and he just seems so adamant that she can’t argue with him any further. They watch the rest of the documentary in silence.

They say goodnight again, and Louise finds herself wishing that nobody would contact her about David. In her head as she lay awake in bed, trying to sleep, she imagined what it would be like for just the two of them. They’d end up dating, and eventually marrying, maybe a kid or two, definitely a dog. He’d forget about whoever it is he was looking for and have a happy life with her. She snorts quietly to herself. A more realistic option would be they become friends. That’s all.

David is up early again in the morning, and she comes downstairs to have a mug placed in her hand while she’s still yawning.

“Maybe you were a butler,” she says, drinking the coffee. “You’ve got all the skills.”

“Maybe.” He sounds minutely tense, and she doesn’t blame him. Today is going to be an interesting day.

His nerves (however so slightly they’re presented) seem to be settling into her, too, because she spends the day cleaning. _Cleaning_. It’s not like she’s a slob or anything, but she’s a clean-when-necessary kind of girl. He seems to enjoy it, though. As she washes out the interior of the microwave, she watches him straighten a book on her bookshelf by a hair and nod to himself contently. It makes her giggle quietly to herself. He probably _was_ a butler.

It’s lunch and nothing has happened yet, so they order pizza. While she asks for her usual, he orders a pizza with a shit ton of meat on it. She mockingly chides him for not eating more vegetables, and he rolls his eyes amiably.

So, fifteen minutes later, when there’s an urgent knock on the door, she’s fully expecting two pizzas, one with an entire farm on it and the other with some nice mushrooms.

That’s not at all what’s waiting on the other side.

Instead, it’s a woman with the most enraged facial expression, holding a newspaper. From Newport.

Oh.

She was sort of expecting to receive an email. Because she’d put an email address in the papers. Not her actual address. Apparently, this very angry woman from Newport had gotten hold of a Cardiff phonebook and looked her up. Unexpected, but it would make things faster in the end.

Not exactly sure why the woman is angry, but hoping that cheerfulness might change the mood, she begins to ask, “Are you here for-”

“How dare you!” the woman practically spits at her.

That was not at all what she was expecting, even with someone so furious. “Sorry?”

“My brother is _dead_ , and you pull this shit?” the woman growls. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

“I- I don’t know what you mean,” Louise stammers, still shocked. “That’s- he’s… look, I don’t know about your brother, but that guy? He’s alive and in my house… so…”

The fury leaves the woman’s face, and her face morphs into something not unlike horror. “What? No. No, you’re joking- you- you’re lying. You have to be. He’s dead.”

“Yeah, no, um,” Louise says, gesturing inside her house. “He’s definitely in there.”

The woman stares at her with the same almost-horrified expression. Louise momentarily turns back to look for him, hoping he’d be somewhere in the line of sight, but she remembers that he’s gone back to cleaning while they wait for the pizza.

“He’s cleaning the bathroom,” Louise informs the woman. “And before you say anything, it was his idea.”

Surprisingly, that does something to the woman. She clasps a hand to her mouth, and it looks to Louise like she might cry.

“That’s… that’s him then,” she says, her voice muffled behind her hand.

“Come inside,” Louise offers.

The woman makes to do so, but Louise remembers that David _can’t_ remember, and she stops the woman as she’s about to step over the threshold. The woman looks puzzledly at her, and she rubs her neck sheepishly.

“Um, wait, sorry. One quick detail.”

“What’s that?” the woman asks warily.

“He… uh…” How to tell someone that their brother, who was thought to be dead, appeared two days ago from midair right in front of her with no memories? “He’s… a bit out of sorts at the moment.”

“How come?” Now the woman almost sounds accusatory.

“He can’t remember anything.”

The woman’s horrified look comes back, but this time it looks more like actual horror.

“Sorry,” Louise says, not sure what else to say. “It’s why we were looking for people who knew him.”

“No, no, I get it,” the woman whispers. “I… um-”

The woman’s voice dies off when David’s voice calls out from behind Louise.

“You’re not running away with the pizza delivery man, are you?”

The woman slaps her hand over her mouth again and lets out an ugly sob.

“I think you’d better come in,” Louise says gently, and the woman nods as she allows herself to be ushered inside.

David is standing in the kitchen washing his hands when they find him. He turns around, opening his mouth to say something, and then shuts it promptly as he sees the woman. An odd look crosses his face.

“Um,” Louise says. “This is… your sister, apparently.”

To her credit, the woman is not sobbing any longer. She seems to have bottled up whatever emotions she previously had and is now holding herself together in a sort of professional manner.

“You’re really him,” she says, only sounding a bit watery. “It’s really you.”

David says nothing, still staring with that odd expression on his face. If the woman has any reaction to that, it’s carefully hidden. Louise thinks back on all of the ridiculously subtle emotions she’s had to pick up on from David over the past few days. Apparently, this kind of masking runs in the family.

“I’m Rhiannon,” the woman says. She’s taking the whole ‘amnesia’ thing in stride. “Rhiannon Davies. I’m your older sister.”

“I don’t remember,” David says, but it’s so quiet that Louise almost doesn’t hear it.

The woman, Rhiannon, nods. There’s no change in her mask. “It’d make sense why you didn’t come back to me, then. Why you didn’t bother to tell me you were alive.”

Before David can answer, there’s another knock on the door.

“That should be the pizza, then.” Louise says. She sighs as the knocking gets louder; he’s apparently an impatient deliveryman. “I’ll just go get it.”

Neither David or this Rhiannon acknowledge her, choosing to stare at each other with their odd and blank expressions. She takes a second to observe them both before making her way to her front door, which might break down at any moment now under the strain of the incessant pounding.

“Sorry I’m slow, I-” She cuts off, because yet again, this is not the pizza.

It’s a very, _very_ pregnant woman. Like, her-water-could-break-at-any-moment kind of pregnant. And she’s so angry that Rhiannon’s rage looked like an upset puppy. She looks like she could rip Louise to shreds in a second. There’s a rather kind looking man standing behind her, but he doesn’t seem angry. He’s frowning, but he’s also watching the woman (his wife?) carefully.

“The nerve,” the new woman snarls. “Do you have any idea-”

“Look, if you’re here because of the ad,” Louise cuts in, getting the picture. “Then you should know-”

But the woman’s terrifying rage is slipping off her face already, like Rhiannon’s had, and she’s gazing over Louise’s shoulder. Louise turns to see what the pregnant lady sees, but suddenly she’s being shoved aside by the woman. Startled, she watches as the woman waddles as fast as she can past Louise. The man gives her an apologetic look and a mouthed ‘sorry!’ Louise shakes her head and motions for him to come in. They follow the pregnant woman inside.

“Where the _hell_ have you been?” The woman bellows, and she’s practically bawling.

David’s eyes are wide, and he looks terribly uncomfortable. “Sorry?”

“Dead!” the woman shrieks. “You were dead, Ianto fucking Jones, and here you are, eight months later!”

Rhiannon places a hand on the woman’s shoulder, either as a comforting or a warning gesture. Louise instantly feels some tension release. If the two women know each other, then that makes it extremely likely that they do really know David. The tension is immediately restored when she remembers that a pregnant lady (who could very well give birth on her floor) is screaming at her resident amnesiac.

“Excuse me,” Louise begins to say, but the woman’s mood has already changed.

She’s sobbing into her hands, and her husband moves to gently pat her on the shoulder. Louise wonders where she can find a man like that before yet again remembering the situation.

“Okay,” Louise tries again, finally taking charge. “If everyone could just calm down for a minute-” the crying pregnant lady removes her hands from her face to give Louise a glare through her tears “-then this will go a lot smoother.”

David gives her a grateful look and she returns it with a small smile. Crazy to think that, even with all these people who apparently know him, she’s the only one he knows. No, not crazy. Sad. Really sad. And someone’s got to do something about that.

“I didn’t get your names,” she tells the couple.

“Uh, Gwen Cooper and Rhys Williams,” the man (Rhys) says, now holding on to his wife, who was staring at David heartbrokenly.

“Pleased to meet you, Gwen and Rhys,” Louise says as she essentially herds them into the living room. “I’m Louise Bevan.”

Rhiannon gives a tiny, polite smile and Rhys says a ‘hello,’ but Gwen’s eyes are still trained on David. “What’s wrong with Ianto?”

“Is that his name?” Louise asks Rhiannon, who nods.

“Ianto Jones,” Rhiannon says.

“Knew I was Welsh,” David, now Ianto, jokes quietly, undoubtedly trying to lighten the mood. Rhys gives a snort and something sad flashes on Rhiannon’s face.

“What do you mean?” Gwen asks, her voice breaking.

“Uh…”

“You don’t remember, do you?” Gwen was back to tears.

“Are you my sister, too, then?” Ianto asks kindly.

She shakes her head and buries her face in her hands again.

“Coworkers,” Rhys says, hugging his wife to him and helping her sit on the sofa.

Louise blinks. That’s an awful lot of emotion coming from a coworker, even one who is that heavily pregnant.

“And friends,” Rhys adds. “You were close.”

“Oh.” Ianto sits down beside her on the sofa, and she instantly grabs his hand. Ianto stiffens but doesn’t remove his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not, but it’s okay,” Gwen sniffs, and Louise tumbles that around in her brain, trying to make sense of it. “At least you’re back.”

“What happened to me?” Ianto asks.

“You died,” Gwen whispers, and her crying starts up yet again. “We… you died, Ianto.”

“Are you sure? No offense, but I don’t feel very dead,” Ianto says.

“I sat beside your body. You were dead.”

“We buried you,” Rhiannon says quietly from a chair. The mask is finally down; she looks distraught.

“When?” Louise asks, even though the question is really ‘how?’ “He’s been here for days.”

“Eight months ago,” Rhiannon says.

Louise’s mouth drops open. “But that’s not possible. You can’t… bury someone and have them appear from _literally_ nowhere eight months later.”

“Sorry, did you say, ‘appear from nowhere?’” Rhys asks.

“It’s what happened,” clarifies Ianto.

“Bloody Torchwood,” Rhys says, sighing.

“What does this have to do with them?” Louise asks, startled and curious. She’s heard about Torchwood. “Is he another one of their spooky-dos?”

Gwen gives a strangled chuckle. “You should meet Andy.”

“Look, can we stay on topic?” Rhiannon asks. “I want to know how my brother is alive right in front of me but can’t remember me.”

Louise feels for her immensely. She could only imagine if her own brother came back but didn’t remember her. She’d be devastated.

“I don’t know how,” Gwen admits. “Maybe it was something alien.”

“ _Alien_?” Louise cries.

Gwen mutters something about ‘retcon’ under her breath. Louise has no idea what that means, and assumes Gwen is just insulting her. Which is incredibly rude, seeing as she’s found Gwen’s friend and given him back to her.

“No matter what, I’m just glad you’re back, sweetheart,” Gwen says, and she lightly places her not held hand on Ianto’s cheek. Ianto’s face is utterly blank, and he watches Gwen carefully.

“God, if only you’d shown up two months ago,” Rhys says. “Might’ve made this mess a whole lot easier to deal with. He could’ve taken you to whatever alien shit you guys keep and fixed you up good as new.”

Gwen’s face contorts. Louise is sure she’s going to cry again, but instead, she takes a deep breath in and caresses Ianto’s cheek gently. “Jack would’ve been so… _glad_ to see you. Maybe he wouldn’t have left if you had.”

Louise wants to know who the hell they’re talking about, but she’s distracted by Ianto’s flinch. At first, she thinks it’s because of Gwen’s hand, but then she watches as Ianto’s brows knit and he slowly brings a hand to his head. He stares directly at Gwen with a strange intensity, one like he’d had earlier with Rhiannon. Only this time, his eyes are sharp and confused.

“You remember Jack?” Gwen asks, hope and anxiety dripping in her tone.

“Captain Jack Harkness,” he says slowly.  “I’m looking for him.”

Astonished, Louise sits up straighter. This is… unexpected, to say the least.

“You remember?” Gwen asks again.

He nods, but it gradually turns into shaking his head. “I need to find him.”

In her chair, Rhiannon gives a condescending laugh. “Why? He wasn’t at your funeral. He doesn’t give a damn about you,” she scoffs, and Louise can see the unshed tears.

“Because otherwise, all of this doesn’t make sense,” Ianto says, his eyes not leaving Gwen. “I don’t understand any of it.”

Gwen lets go of Ianto’s hand and puts her freed hand on Ianto’s other cheek. She closes her eyes and pulls his face down to press their foreheads together. His eyes stay open, watching her.

“We’ll find him,” promises Gwen. “I will hunt him down to the edges of the universe if I have to, Ianto Jones.”

“And we might have to,” Rhys adds. “He’s gone up to space.”

“Space?” Louise asks inquisitively. Ianto was searching for an astronaut?

Gwen ignores them both. “Come home with us.”

“What?” Rhiannon asks harshly.

Ianto and Gwen are finally pulled out of their trance. Gwen’s hands drop awkwardly to her lap, and Ianto turns to look at his sister.

“You can’t go home with her,” Rhiannon says, and Louise notes a slight plea in her voice. “I’m your sister. You should come home with me.”

“He can’t find Jack if he’s with you,” Gwen says tightly.

“Why should he? Bastard got my brother killed.”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“Maybe he should stay with me,” Louise suggests.

She isn’t going to lie, she sympathizes greatly with Rhiannon. She’d want her brother with her, too, if he came back from the grave. And especially when this ‘Jack’ character seems terrifically horrible for the man. But she can’t let them squabble about Ianto like children over the last piece of candy. And she’s terribly lonely and wouldn’t mind some company until ‘Jack’ is found.

But both of the women seem to agree on one thing, though, and it’s that this should not be allowed.

“No,” they snap in unison.

She holds up her hands in defense, and Rhys shoots her a rueful glance.

“I have to go with her,” Ianto tells Rhiannon.

“But why?” she asks. “I’m your older sister; I’ve been taking care of you since you were born. I can take care of you again!”

He shakes his head solemnly. “I need to find him,” he repeats.

“Why? He’s not good for you, Ianto.” She’s straight up begging now. “You told me you didn’t even know where you stand with him. He got you killed, and he didn’t even pay respects to you.”

“I have to make this all make sense,” he says, as if any of them knew what ‘this’ was.

“I can’t lose you again,” she pleads. “Please, just come home with me.”

“Rhiannon,” Ianto says. There’s a hint of familiarity in his voice that wasn’t there earlier.

She gives him a sorrowful, searching glance, and then nods. “Okay. But you can’t leave me again. You… you have to promise to visit me.”

“I promise,” Ianto tells her, and he stands.

She gets up as well and stares up at her younger brother. “I miss you.”

Ianto seems to tolerate the hug she gives him; he awkwardly pats her on the back in return.  When she steps back, a frown appears on his face again.

“You have two kids, and you think fish make shit pets,” he says carefully. He pauses, frowns more, and resumes. “Which is ironic, because I used to tell you that your husband has the brain of a goldfish.”

This, after everything, is what sets Rhiannon off. Louise watches as the tears spill down her cheeks as she begins to laugh.

“I love you,” she says fondly when she regains control over herself. “You daft sod.”

And with a final sadly tender smile, she leaves. Louise tries not to feel bitter about a lack of a ‘thank you.’

Rhys and Gwen stand up next, and Gwen trundles over to stand next to Ianto.

“We should get going, too,” Gwen says, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

“He’s got some stuff upstairs,” Louise says. “A suit.”

“I’ll go fetch it,” Rhys says.

“Second bedroom,” Louise instructs him as he heads up the staircase. She turns to Ianto. “Well, David, or Ianto, or whoever you are… it’s been fun.”

Ianto gives her a small grin. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” she says. And then she smirks. “Although I would like a final cup of coffee.”

“I’ll go make some,” Ianto says.

Oddly, Gwen seems to sigh with relief, and follows Ianto to the kitchen, fumbling for something in her purse. Louise writes it off as something pregnancy-related and goes upstairs to help Rhys find the suit that he seems to be struggling to find.

“I take it that’s not the second bedroom,” Rhys says, pointing over his shoulder as he walks out of her bedroom.

“This one,” she says as she walks into the other bedroom.

“Whose stuff?” Rhys asks. He nods to the boxes.

Sighing and realizing she has at least five minutes until the coffee’s done, she recounts the tale of her brother’s death and how this was his house and blah blah blah. As nice as Rhys seems to be, he just isn’t as easy to talk to as Ianto was. Rhys scowls lightly when she talks about London, but when she asks why, he waves it off, saying that it was nothing. Just a coincidence, that’s all.

Unhooking the hanger that the suit neatly hung on from the closet door, she holds it out to him. “Here it is.”

Rhys’s hands twitch, but he otherwise makes no motion to take it.

“What?” she asks when she realizes he’s glaring at it.

“It’s…” Rhys sighs. “God, I can’t believe I even remember that. Gwen?”

“What?” Gwen yells from downstairs.

“Come up-” he cuts off his call and sighs. “Bloody pregnant and hates the stairs. Never mind, I’m coming down!”

He turns and leaves Louise with the suit, and she follows him down the stairs, bewildered. What on earth was going on? This day just gets weirder and weirder. Scratch that, this _week_ is getting weirder and weirder. She just wishes it would end already.

“What is it?” Gwen asks concernedly. One hand is on her back and the other is on her overly-swollen stomach.

“Take a look at this suit,” Rhys says.

Gwen eyes Louise first before she turns her attention to the suit, shirt, and tie all smartly hanging from the hanger in Louise’s hand. Instantaneously, Gwen’s face distorts with rage, horror, and overall distaste.

“Burn it,” she hisses, “dump it, destroy it. I don’t care. Just get that out of my sight.”

“Why, what’s wrong with it?” Louise asks. It wasn’t that bad a suit.

“Out!” Gwen shrieks.

Rhys pries the hanger from her hands and leaves the house. Louise stares curiously as the door swings shut.

Completely bizarre, all this. Utterly bonkers.

Gwen has already tottered back into the kitchen, and Louise follows her. There’s a mug of coffee waiting in Ianto’s hand, and Gwen takes it from him to hand to Louise.

“Drink up,” Gwen says, tone suddenly cheerful. “I know how good Ianto’s coffee is.”

“Mmm,” Louise agrees as she takes a sip. “The best.”

Gwen nods fervently.

They stand in silence for a while as Rhys does whatever he’s doing with the apparently offensive suit.

“Guess that pizza never came,” Louise remarks to Ianto.

“No. Perhaps it’s better off that way, though.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I didn’t still want it.”

Rhys returns a few minutes later, not holding the suit.

“What happened to it?” Louise asks.

“Don’t tell us,” Gwen says, glaring at Louise. “I don’t want to know.”

“It’s gone,” Rhys says. “That’s all that matters.”

“What was wrong with my suit?” Ianto asks.

“Everything,” Gwen mumbles darkly.

“Not a good day for you, mate,” Rhys says with a grimace.

“Oh.” Ianto nods, but Louise still doesn’t get it.

Oh well. She’s too tired to truly care.

“Thank you,” Ianto says to her. “For everything.”

“Your welcome,” she replies. “I hope you find… Jack, was it? And you’re free to stop by any time.”

He smiles at her, but it’s sad.

They leave, and Louise notes that yet again, she goes unthanked. First by Rhiannon, then by Rhys and Gwen. Rude. At least Ianto was polite. She hopes he drops by in the future.

She yawns. She’s feeling rather tired, and she’s blaming it on the long past few days. At least they’re over now.

Time for a nap.

* * *

 

“Ugh,” Gwen groans as she slides out of the car.

“Careful,” Rhys warns her. He chuckles when she glares at him. “I’ll come back to get you when you’re done.”

“I’ll call,” she promises.

“I love you,” Rhys says as she shuts the door.

She turns to Ianto. “Ready?”

He’s not sure he is, but she seems to be. “I suppose.”

“Good.” She nods and smiles a kind smile. With a twinge in the back of his mind, he remembers he used to call that her ‘mother hen’ face. In private, of course.

“Which number?” he asks.

“Seven,” she says, pointing at the storage facility unit.

They begin to amble over at Gwen’s pace.

“When are you due?” he asks.

Gwen frowns, and he watches as her lips move slightly as she counts to herself. “A week? No. I think we’re at five days now.”

“And you’re sure you want to do this?” Ianto asks hesitantly.

“Of course!” Gwen says. “It’s important you get your stuff back. It’s yours! Besides, it might help you remember things better.”

It’s been two days since he left Louise’s house to live with Gwen and Rhys. They’d moved to a new home, but Gwen had once mentioned wanting to go undercover when the baby was born. She’d said something along the lines of wanting the baby to have a normal life.

“Also,” Gwen continues as they stop at locker number seven. “I distinctly remember there being a very nice chair in here that I fully intend on sitting in.”

“Code?” Ianto asks.

“Oh, it’s um…” She shuts her eyes. “190883.”

“Huh,” Ianto says as the tingling twinge returns. He puts the number in.

“What?” Gwen asks.

“Who chose the code?”

“…Jack.”

The tingle turns into an aching pain as things squirm about in his brain. It happens every time someone says that name. It’s almost like his brain is trying to fix itself but can’t. Instead, it just shifts the useless information around to another confusing state. Although he does now remember his first blowjob and the time he punched a hole in his wall.

“Clever,” Ianto says, and the door lifts.

“How?” Gwen asks as they step into the unit.

“Birthday. Nineteen, oh eight, ‘eighty-three.”

“Ah. You remember that?”

He shrugs, before turning to face towering boxes of his possessions. “Wow.”

“We labeled them,” she says quietly. “Tried to organize them the way you would’ve wanted.”

He looks over to see she’s started to cry. “You know I’m here now, right?”

She gazes up at him with those wide doe-eyes of hers. “But are you really?”

The question stings, but not as much as the answer. No, he’s not. Because, while there’s not things missing anymore, it’s just… not coherent. Remembering who he’s supposed to be is like untying the largest knot of thread. Except this thread moves every time it’s touched, and there’s no apparent beginning or end to start untying from.

“Is this all, then?” he asks, choosing not to answer the question.

“No. Most. But not all,” Gwen says, meandering through the first row of boxes. “Your sister took some originally. It’s not in the Torchwood protocols, and of course you of all people would be the first one to tell us that, but… you _weren’t_ there to tell us that. And after all your sister went through, we couldn’t stop her from taking a few things from your flat.”

The tingling and niggling in the back of his brain eased. “My bank accounts?”

“It all went to her.”

“Thought so.” He nods. “Good.”

“We’ll find a way to get you back on your feet,” she says, patting a box labeled ‘red shirts.’ “You’ll just have to live with us until then.”

“You’re going to have a baby,” Ianto reminds her. “I can’t take up all your space.”

“Please.” She waves a hand at him. “That place has got _plenty_ of space. It just means you’ll be sharing in the late-night screaming fests.”

“And who will be doing the screaming?” he asks. “You or the baby.”

“All of us.” Gwen gasps. “There’s the chair!”

She points to something next to a tower of boxes that all read as ‘suits.’ With the niggling, twinging feeling, he remembers the chair as the one that sat in his old living room. There’s a picture frame sitting on the chair that he removes so that she can sit.

“Wonderful,” she sighs, folding her hands and placing them gently on her stomach.

He’s already focusing on the frame in his hands. Sitting down on the floor, he sets it on what used to be (niggling twinge) his coffee table and stares.

Looking at the photo made his brain writhe around like a bunch of snakes. He presses a hand to his temple to calm it down, but it doesn’t let up.

“Lisa,” he says, and the pain stops.

“You loved her,” Gwen says.

“I know.” And he does. He knows it all. But it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t all fit. But he loved her. Loves her.

“I’m sorry we never got to… really meet her.”

“Me too.” He turns the frame face down on the table.

“Can you remember what she was like?” she asks.

“Sort of.”

“…can you remember me?” It’s not the first time she’s asked the question in the past few days, and every time he brushes it off. Now, though, he’s got nothing to hide behind, and he knows there’s no use holding it back.

“Your middle name’s Elizabeth, but I don’t remember your first name.” She opens her mouth to say something, but he holds up a hand to stop her. “I know it because you told me, but otherwise… I know this isn’t the first time you were pregnant, and I know it wasn’t your baby, but I don’t remember what happens after that. I remember you and… Harper…”

“Owen.”

“Owen,” he repeats, but it doesn’t feel right. “You… did something. I don’t know what. I know it makes you mad to talk about. I can’t tell why. I don’t understand. It’s all jumbled in my brain. I remember all of it, but I just can’t… get it. And sometimes when I do, it’s just nonsense. Like I should be able to understand it, because it’s sitting right in front of me, clear as day, but it won’t let me. And then you say… his name… and it turns about all over again and I’m remembering different things.”

“Oh.” Gwen’s got the ‘mother hen’ look again, and it’s mixed with pity. He looks away so that he doesn’t have to see it.

“When I do remember things,” he says, “I keep them. I don’t re-forget, or anything. But it hurts to remember. It’s like my brain’s being strangled or electrocuted or something.”

“Ianto,” Gwen begins softly.

“Let’s just grab my clothes and go,” he says. He doesn’t want pity.

“You won’t feel like this forever,” she says. He knows she thinks she’s being encouraging, and he knows she’s not going to let it go until she’s had her say, so he lets her go on. “It’ll get better. If you say that you keep the stuff you remember, then shouldn’t it all come back eventually?”

He shakes his head. Logically, she’s correct, but whatever’s wreaking havoc in his mind isn’t exactly logical. There’s only one way to stop it.

“Then we’ll find Jack,” she vows.

He winces, squeezing his left eye shut as his brain distorts and rearranges. He’s suddenly able to recall the name of his first teacher, as well as Tosh’s favorite flower. And who Tosh was. Sort of.

“Sorry,” Gwen says.

“Camellia,” he mutters, blinking his left eye open.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“But we will find him,” she says.

“How do you know?” he asks, standing up and brushing off his trousers (Rhys’s trousers, actually, and they don’t fit).

“I’ve got a plan.” She says this with a knowing smile, and he knows he’s not going to get away with not asking.

“What’s your plan?” he asks with a sigh.

“Captain John Hart.”

The name should have meaning. It does. He just can’t quite understand what. It’s like reading Japanese when he only knows Icelandic, or something. Something to do with candy?

“Don’t remember?” Gwen asks.

“Not… exactly, no. Sorry.”

“Probably for the best,” she says. “Now help me get up. We’ve got to call him before I give birth to this parasite.”

“That’s a baby, Gwen. Innocent little baby.”

“Same difference,” she huffs as Ianto drags her out of the chair. “Ugh. Stop having such comfortable chairs.”

He chuckles. “I’ll remember that for the future.”

Gwen makes two calls. One is to Rhys, which lasts about thirty seconds. The second one is also as quick and succinct, but with a lot less love.

“Get back here,” she orders the person in the phone. “You’ve got a day.”

The voice makes an indiscernible comment.

“You’ll get the ability to transport back. And you’re doing this because you owe Jack.”

Ianto closes both eyes this time as his brain scrambles. Ow. But now he knows why he’s got a scar on his left elbow (infection that needed to be drained as a kid), and why his mom died. That last part makes him sad.

“No, that _is_ the payment. Teleportation. Take it or leave it.” Gwen pauses as the man on the other end sighs loud enough for Ianto to hear, but then inaudibly says something else in a garbled tone. “Good. One day, Hart. One day.”

She hangs up, glares at the phone, sticks it in her pocket, and then turns and beams at Ianto.

“There!” she says.

“You sure you’ve got one day in you?” he asks.

She looks down at her stomach. “Maybe? If I don’t, I will.”

“That makes no sense.”

“I can’t afford to not have one day,” she says with a bleak tone. Then she claps her hands together. “Now, which boxes are we taking?”

“Um… what can we fit into Rhys’s car?”

“Pfft.” Gwen dismisses him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be silly. He’s bringing a lorry back. We can pack up all of your suits. And this chair. I’m taking this chair.”

‘We’ turns into Rhys and Ianto shoving seven boxes of clothes and the chair into the back of a small lorry. Gwen sits in front and yells abuses at the bulge in her stomach for the backache she was feeling. However, Gwen and Rhys had forgotten that the lorry only held two people, and Ianto has to ride in a cab back to their new house.

“You’re lucky I don’t forget things again,” he grumbles as he walks into the house.

“Sorry, love,” Gwen says from the kitchen where she’s eating a cheese toastie that Rhys undoubtably made. “Rhys moved the boxes to the guest room already. He’s back at work now.”

Rhys has indeed moved the boxes up to the guest room. Ianto immediately sheds Rhys’s ill-fitting clothing for his own clothes. He hangs up his suits and sticks everything else in the drawer, and then goes back downstairs.

Gwen’s not alone down there, he as notices on the stairs. She’s standing with someone in the living room.

“That was quick,” Gwen says, folding her arms and glaring at the man in a Napoleonic red coat. He’s familiar, but Ianto can’t place it. This must be Captain John Hart, then.

“Well, tempt me with that kind of promise, and I’m here in an instant,” Hart replies, leaning on the wall. “I see you’ve been sleeping around. That Jack’s kid?”

Ianto bites his tongue as his brain does the tango with itself. Half a night spent in Lisa’s bed, an odd Christmas present, and a trip to urgent care as a kid all spring to mind.

Gwen doesn’t respond to the man’s last comment. “Were you already here?”

“I was in the area,” Hart says with a shrug. “Your Welsh accents are truly to die for.”

Ianto decides there’s no point in staying on the steps any longer. He finishes descending the last two and makes his way to Gwen.

“Eye Candy!” Hart cries, and he looks ecstatic at first, until his face slips into something akin to alarm. “Hang on, aren’t you dead?”

“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Ianto says, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a better look at the sandy haired man. The twisting niggling in his mind was playing up again. “Or something of the sort.”

“Hell. Jack’s in for a shock,” Hart says. His eyes wander up and down Ianto.

This time, Ianto tries to keep his face impassive. A muscle in his cheek goes rogue and twitches, but that’s about it. He’s filled with memories of blowfish (odd), a nasty experience with ice cream, a dramatic read of Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_ , and the name of a childhood mate’s dog (Badger).

“You carry seventeen weapons.”

“Yeah,” Hart says, frowning at Ianto. “What about it?”

“Nothing. Just seems excessive. Overcompensating for something?”

Hart stares at him for a second before bursting into laughter. “Oh, Eye Candy. I’m so glad you’re not dead! You’re so much fun. Jack’s _gotta_ let me borrow you sometime.”

Ianto curls his toes and he blinks rapidly. First loose tooth and a gun to his head in a lift.

“I think I’ll pass,” Ianto says through gritted teeth.

“Alright, knock it off,” Gwen says, sitting down in a chair in the living room. “This is a business call, not an orgy.”

“Some other time, then.” Hart’s eyes do another pass over Ianto’s body before he flops down on the center of the sofa. “Right. Let’s talk business.”

Gwen makes a motion for Hart to hand over his wrist strap. He takes it off and lobs it at her, and she barely catches it before it crashes into her face. She throws him a dangerous glare before pulling the tiniest screwdriver up off the side table next to the chair.

“This was Jack’s. He taught me exactly how to fix your wrist strap. Just in case I needed something out of you.”

Pressing his lips tightly together, Ianto remembers a night at a club that he actually would prefer remained forgotten.

“Manipulative,” Hart tuts.

“Hark who’s talking,” Gwen retorts as she starts to tinker with the wrist strap. “You’re the one who pretended there were radiation cluster bombs all over the city just so you could get yourself blown up.”

“Ooh, touché.”

Ianto observes Hart taking in everything in the room as Gwen fixes his broken… oh, what was it called? Come on, he knew this one. Vortex manipulator. That’s it. If only he could force himself to remember things all the time.

“Done,” Gwen says after a bit, and something falls off the vortex manipulator into her hand.

“Christ,” Hart says, appearing thoroughly shocked. “You weren’t joking.”

“I, unlike you, am not a liar and a cheat.” Gwen stands up slowly.

“Hm. Maybe not. Jack taught you- oh, for fuck’s sake, Eye Candy, why do you keep flinching every time I say his name?”

Ianto stops sucking in his cheeks and forces himself from thinking about Lisa’s favourite colour of nail polish long enough to stare at Hart. Clearly, he isn’t being as subtle as he thought. Although it was entirely possible that Hart was just that good at reading people; Ianto now remembers that Hart was a conman.

“It’s nothing,” Ianto lies.

“Bullshit,” Hart says.

“He’s just having memory issues, that’s all,” Gwen says as she rubs her back.

“Oooooh,” Hart crows wickedly. “Does your brain go all wonky when I say Jack’s name? Perhaps I should say it more. Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack-”

There’s an ugly noise that tugs Ianto back from memories of pteranodons, a meat cleaver to his throat, an old-fashioned Webley to his head, Rhiannon’s first boyfriend, and way too many more. He finds, much to his chagrin, that he’s doubled over from the pain of his tangling brain. When he straightens up, he finds Gwen towering over Hart, who has a hand clapped over his right eye as the left glares up at her. Ianto realizes with a childish glee that she punched him.

“Now, are we going to behave?” asks Gwen coldly.

Hart makes a noise that could be interpreted as a ‘yes.’

“Good.” Gwen drops the vortex manipulator in his lap. “You’re expected to find Jack now.”

“And what makes you think I’ll go and do that? I am, after all, a liar and a cheat, and you, my dear, have paid the entire payment upfront. I could scoot off to the ends of the universe and you’d get nothing.”

A smile that looks just wrong on Gwen’s face plays on her lips. “Not if you want to teleport again.”

“What?”

“There’s codes that have been encrypted into this,” Gwen says. “Courtesy of your old partner. If neither he nor I don’t put the codes in after your first transport… well, let’s just say it’s even more useless than it was with a bomb on it.”

Hart eyes her carefully. “He really did teach you well.”

Gwen waddles back, and Hart leaps to his feet. “Alright. So. When did he leave and where did he go?”

“Two months ago, and I don’t know,” Gwen says.

“That’s not much to go on,” Hart says. “Although, I have tracked him through worse. He had a year’s head start and he travelled through time as well as space.”

“His wrist-strap-thingy is just as shitty as yours is,” Gwen informs him. “He’ll probably not have used it much.”

“Travelling by ship, even better,” Hart says. “This is getting easier and easier.”

“Bring him back, or you’re stuck in this time forever,” Gwen warns, and she steps back as Hart prepares to leave.

Hart pauses with his finger just above the vortex manipulator. “Quick question. What do I do to get him back?”

“Just…” Gwen looks to Ianto for help, but he shrugs. He doesn’t know. He hasn’t seen the man in eight months, and his brain’s all jumbled. “Do what you have to.”

“Oh, I like the sounds of that,” Hart says, pressing his finger down.

“Within reason!” Gwen shouts, but it’s too late; Hart’s already vanished in a glow of orange light.

“I don’t remember him being very trustworthy,” Ianto says calmly. “Are you sure this will work?”

Gwen sighs. “No. But we’ve got to hope. Nice suit.”

“Thanks,” Ianto says, gazing down at himself. “Feels a bit more… me.”

“I’m glad,” Gwen says. “He would have liked to see you in red.”

Ianto frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just hope this works.”

If it doesn’t, he’s going to spend a great deal of time wondering why he can’t even remember the man he’s looking for. And he really, really wants to. More than he wants to remember himself.

Because the one thing he knew right from the very start, when he first materialized from god knows where, Ianto knew he loves that man.

And that is fucking terrifying.

* * *

 

Jack is disappointed in the whisky he holds. Alien whiskies hold no candle to the ones from earth. This tastes like vodka. The only vodka he’s ever liked was hyper vodka, and that’s not for the taste. He misses Scotch. He doesn’t know when he started to become so obsessed with Scotch; he assumes it was when he left Earth and realized he couldn’t have it anymore. There’s lots of things he can’t have now.

He signals the bartender for another drink of this alien whisky/vodka shit, because in the end, who gives a damn? As long as it gets him so drunk that he can’t remember why he’s drinking. The bartender, a glowing lifeform that looks barely corporeal, refills his glass and warns him this is his final drink.  Jack laughs humourlessly to himself, because it may be his last drink at the bar, but nothing’s going to stop him from drowning himself in more liquor when he gets back to his room.

There’s a Rykerian eyeing him coyly a few people to his right. Jack tries to decide whether to go to his room to drink more or sleep with the Rykerian. He can’t make up his mind, so he goes with both.

As he finishes off his ‘last’ drink, though, he catches movement from the corner of his left eye. At first, he thinks it’s a barfight. He wonders vaguely if he should join in, just for the hell of it. But as he turns to watch, he realizes with a lot of disappointment that it’s not a barfight. It’s just a man pushing his way through the crowd.

And the man is John fucking Hart. Of all people.

“Finally find yourself a transport, then?” Jack asks when John finally reaches him.

“What?”

“To get yourself off Earth.”

“… there’s transport ships?”

Jack shrugs.

“That’s just great,” John growls. “You could’ve bothered to tell me. Wasted my one fucking teleport to get to a freighter. Could’ve gotten here in a day, instead of a month.”

Jack ignores him.

“Christ, Jack, you look like shit. When was the last time you slept?”

“Six.”

“Six days?”

Jack says nothing.

“Six weeks?”

Jack finishes off his drink.

“Six weeks? You’ve got to be kidding me,” John says, and it’s almost like he cares. Which is funny, because John doesn’t care. He never does.

“Is there a point to this?” Jack asks.

“In a hurry?” John raises an eyebrow.

Jack tries to make eye contact with the Rykerian again, but the other man is rolling his eyes and leaving. Jack curses quietly to himself. There goes tonight.

“Look,” John says, “you know why I’m here. There’s only one reason I could possibly be off Earth. So let’s just cut the shit and fix my vortex manipulator so we can get you back, alright?”

“Can’t,” Jack says.

“Why not?”

“I’m busy.”

“Yeah, going to Soong.”

“So? I remember you once calling them ‘fully functional.’”

“Really, Jack?” John asks. He sounds disappointed, and that’s ridiculous, coming from the man that sleeps with anything and everything. He mutters something like ‘he’s not going to be happy about that’ under his breath.

That confuses Jack. ‘He?’ ‘He’ who? Jack doesn’t have a single ‘he’ left on Earth. Maybe Archie from Two or Rhys, but neither of them would be upset that Jack’s going off to fling himself into someone else’s bed. In fact, Rhys would probably be pleased, knowing how Rhys feels about Jack. But there’s no one else John could really be talking about.

“Rhys?” Jack asks stupidly. “Why would Rhys be upset?”

“Who the fuck is ‘Rhys?’”

Jack sighs. “Just leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well. Let’s see. For starters, you haven’t slept in six weeks and you look like you’ve got one foot in the grave-” Jack snorts “-no, seriously, Jack. You look _bad_. Have you even used a mirror lately? Second, you’re off to a planet that’s got a shit curfew, and sure, sex isn’t half bad there, but come on. Soong? We both know you can do better than that. Lastly, I’ve been instructed to bring you back, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Jack snorts again.

“What?”

“Gwen pays you for doing whatever you did, and the first thing you do is bother me?”

“She’s paying me for getting you back, Jack,” John says. “Come on, stop being so daft and _think_ for a second.”

“I’m thinking you got the code as payment for… whatever… and now you’re just making shit up to get the second code. That’s what you do.”

“The one time I’m being sincere, and nobody believes me,” John says, shaking his head.

“Ever hear the story of the boy who cried wolf?”

John rolls his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m not an idiotic shepherd boy. Look, I don’t really give a damn which vortex manipulator we use. If you don’t put in the code for mine, just use yours and Gwen will give me the code when I get you back.”

“You really want to get back to Earth?” Jack asks.

“Like I keep saying, I’ve got a job to do. I just want my goddamned vortex manipulator back, and I’ll do pretty much fucking anything to get it back.”

Jack narrows his eyes. “Why did Gwen send you to get me?”

“Jesus Christ, Jack, have you been listening at all? What’ve you been drinking?” John swipes the empty cup from Jack’s fingers and sniffs. “No wonder you’re so slow, this is absolute piss.”

The bartender scowls at John, and Jack snatches the glass back. “I meant why as in, what’s going on that she needs me?”

“I dunno. Never asked.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe.”

“Just tell me,” Jack sighs. “Is she hurt?”

“Nooo, she’s perfectly fine, probably had her baby and is now living the blissful life of a new mother,” John says, voice oozing with sarcasm. “What do you think, Jack? Would I be here if she was alright?”

Jack eyes John, fully taking him in. Some of what he was saying made sense. John wouldn’t be so hasty to get back to Earth as soon as he got away from it. Gwen wouldn’t give him the first codes if it wasn’t important.

“Fine. But mine’s broken and I don’t have time to fix it yet. We’re using yours.”

“ _Finally_ ,” John says, and he sticks his arm out.

Jack taps in a code into the vortex manipulator. It beeps.

“Why’s it doing that?”

“Wrong code,” Jack says, frowning.

“Well, put in the right one!”

“I’m trying to remember it!”

He hovers over John’s wrist and thinks through all of the numerous important codes he has stored in his very inebriated brain. He thinks there’s a two in there. Somewhere. But it could possibly be a five or a three instead. Or maybe it’s not in numbers?

John sighs loudly. “You’re not going to remember, are you?”

“Hold on!” Jack snaps as he tries a second code. He mentally praises whatever higher powers there are when it works.

John tries to yank his arm back, but Jack holds on tight.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure we’re really going to Earth,” Jack says. He plugs in coordinates he’s long had memorized and poises over the wrist strap. “Ready?”

“Just do it alrea-”

Jack shuts him up with the sudden teleport.

“Christ, a little warning would’ve been nice,” John grumbles as they stand under pouring rain on the Roald Dahl Plass.

“I did ask if you were ready.”

“Did you pay your tab at the bar?”

Jack starts walking away.

“You didn’t, did you?” John asks, catching up to him. “Ooh…”

“For once in your life, just stop talking.”

“You’re in a mood.”

Jack whirls around and grabs John by that god-awful coat of his. “You drag me back to this godforsaken place and you think I should be, what, prancing around like a lunatic? If I were any less forgiving-”

“But you’re not.” It’s the gentlest John has ever sounded, and he pulls himself from Jack’s grip. He gives Jack an almost sad look before turning to walk towards the road. “You’re not like me, Jack. I’d hate to see you become what I am.”

Jack stares after John for a moment before the rain gets to him and he dashes after the conman. John has already hailed a cab.

“I’ve already been on this planet too long. I’ve picked up your silly little ways of transportation,” John says, any trace of sympathy gone now. “Also, would now be a good time to mention that I’ve been using that running Torchwood account for the past month? It’s still open, you know.”

Jack presses his head against the window as they drive onward to Gwen’s new house. He closes his eyes and shuts out the entire world. Everything is a nightmare. He doesn’t want to be here. It hurts too much.

When this is over, he’s headed to the graveyard with a bottle of real Scotch. And he’s going to stay there until the end of time.

“Jack,” John’s voice says abruptly, and Jack’s eyes fly open to see John’s face in his.

Jack pushes him away and sits up. “What?”

“Sorry to wake you, sleeping beauty,” John snickers, “but we’re here.”

The rain has let up, and Jack looks outside the window to see a house.

“Nice house. Severance pay from your little band must be spectacular,” John says, opening his door and hopping out.

Jack tries to keep himself from punching John as he gets out of the cab, too. The cab speeds off as soon as Jack’s feet are on the pavement.

“What’s his problem?” Jack asks, glowering after the car.

“Don’t think he likes drunks.”

Jack huffs a laugh.

“That’s better,” John says, smiling, and Jack is yet again shocked at how kind it sounds.

“There’s no ‘better’ in this,” Jack says dully.

John murmurs something inaudibly to himself and takes off towards the house. Jack watches him go for a moment before following. He wasn’t really prepared to see Gwen. While he wasn’t as drunk as he could be, he was still _drunk_. And he hasn’t exactly had time to make sure he doesn’t look like he’s half dead. Plus, he’s not even mentally prepared to see her. He’s pretty sure he might start crying. He’s got a lot of tears left in him right now.

John knocks rather loudly on the front door.

“Personally, I think it would’ve been cooler to teleport directly into her living room, but c'est la vie,” John says, increasing the rapidity and volume of his knocking. “I don’t quite understand this concept of smacking on people’s doors. Seems kind of rude, don’t you think? How can they be sure you’re not a burglar trying to break their door down?” 

“Well, when you do it like that, they’re not,” Jack scoffs.

“How the hell else am I supposed to do it?” John asks, and Jack can’t believe he’s going to have to give the man _knocking_ lessons.

The door opens to reveal a surprised Gwen holding a very small baby. She looks between the two men, exhales deeply, and smiles.

“Took you long enough,” she says to John. She beams at Jack. “Hello, Jack.”

Jack takes some time to sort through all of the things his brain is refusing to process. He frowns at Gwen and the tiny baby in her arms, and then at John.

“I thought you said she-”

“Actually, I believe my exact words were ‘she’s perfectly fine, probably had her baby and is now living the blissful life of a new mother.’” John smiles devilishly at Jack.

Seething rage apparently does not mix well with the alien whisky, and Jack finds himself clenching his hands into tight fists in order to keep himself from punching John.

“You brought me,” he says in a low voice, “all this way, back to _here_ , of all places, for no reason?”

“Oh, there was a reason,” John says. “Just didn’t think I could get you to move from that bar if I didn’t say something clever.”

“Bar?” Gwen asks, and John mimes ‘drunk’ to her as Jack glares on.

Suddenly, Jack is tired of this. He doesn’t want Gwen all up in his business, trying to fix things. There’s no way to fix this, and he doesn’t want to be forced to try. Everything _hurts_ , don’t they get that?

“Come inside,” Gwen says, motioning for them to move past her.

“Can I hold the baby?” John asks cheekily as he crosses the threshold into the house.

“No,” Gwen says forcefully.

“Aw.”

Jack stands outside for a moment longer, attempting to regain control over himself.

“It’s good to see you, Jack,” Gwen says, and she reaches a hand for his.

“Two hands on the baby,” Jack chides, compelling some cheer he doesn’t feel into his voice.

Gwen rolls her eyes and pulls him inside. She doesn’t let go, and she practically shoves him down the hall into the living room.

“Hey,” Jack protests. He tries wrenching himself free of her grasp.

And then he stops.

There’s a man in the living room. He has his hand holding his head, as if he has a headache, and he’s staring wildly at Jack.

Jack feels his hand go limp in Gwen’s. His whole body feels numb and empty and his brain is even worse. He barely feels the step he takes forward, or the next, or any of the steps he takes until he breaches the gap between himself and the man.

“Ianto?” he asks as his world agonizingly rights itself.

“Jack,” the man says in the way that always made Jack’s heart skip beats.

He’s looking into Jack’s eyes, and he’s there, Jack knows this, but this can’t be real. He’s dead. Jack was there. Jack grabbed him the moment he fell, Jack promised him he’d never be forgotten, Jack held him as he died, and Jack woke up to a world without him. Ianto Jones is _dead_.

But Ianto reaches his hand and touches Jack’s face, and it’s real.

“Jack,” Ianto says again, and Jack finally loses it.

He pulls Ianto to him as the world dissolves in front of him, and he sobs. Ianto’s arms weave around him, holding him, and Jack cries harder, because Ianto Jones is alive and in his arms. He buries his face in the other man’s neck and lets himself go.

Time passes, but Jack isn’t sure if it’s minutes, hours, days, or years before he draws back. He looks right into Ianto’s eyes, just to make sure that this is real. That this isn’t just a delusion made up by his drunk and lonely mind. Ianto blinks at him, and he has tears in his eyes, too. Jack gapes at them for a second, and then he laughs. He can’t help it; Ianto Jones is here, alive and well, and _crying_.

Jack is only dimly aware of John commenting, “He’s finally lost it, the nutter.”

“You’re real,” Jack says, still laughing and crying.

“Last I checked,” Ianto deadpans, and Jack loses it all over again. Ianto grins.

“But how?” Jack asks, and then shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here.”

“You’re drunk,” Ianto replies, but it’s not denunciative.

“Right then,” John says bluntly from somewhere behind Jack, and Jack turns slightly to see him smiling. “My work’s done. I’m off. No need to watch you lot get all sappy.”

 He turns to go, but Ianto stops him. “John, wait.”

“What?”

“Thank you,” Ianto says.

Jack isn’t sure, but he could have sworn he saw John blush. “Don’t mention it. I fully expect a three-way in the future.”

If either Jack or Ianto wanted to protest, they couldn’t, because with a flash of golden Rift light, John winks and disappears.

“He could’ve told me,” Jack says, frowning at the spot where John just stood.

“Would you have believed him?” Ianto asks.

“No.” Jack smiles at him ruefully. “Sorry.”

Ianto shrugs. “No worries. I probably wouldn’t have believed it either.”

“Oh, shut up you two,” Gwen says, rolling her eyes. “You’re both alive, yay! Kiss and be done.”

“Cranky,” Jack remarks.

“She’s been like that for a month,” Ianto says.

“You know what?” Gwen asks dangerously. “Tonight, _you_ get to wake up and feed the baby. See how _you_ like it when someone’s gnawing on you like a vampire when all you want to do is sleep.”

“I think I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you,” Ianto says, and Jack laughs.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Jack says. The laugh dies, and he takes Ianto’s hand. “Really. Ianto, back when you… back then, I never got to say it.”

“You don’t have to,” Ianto says hastily.

“Yes, I do,” Jack says. He lets go of Ianto’s hand and cups his face. “Ianto Jones, I love you.”

Ianto gawks at Jack with wide eyes for a moment, before he grabs Jack. They’re inches from having what would probably be the single most passionate kiss in Jack’s lifetime when they hear a sniff.

“You’re _crying_ now?” Jack asks incredulously.

Gwen glowers at him, a tear trickling down her cheek. “You try getting two hours of sleep a night, Jack Harkness, and see how you feel.”

Jack wants to remark that he’s been sleeping for less for the past few millennia, but he doesn’t feel like that would help his case much.

 “Oh,” Ianto says.

Jack turns back to him. “What?”

“Speaking of less sleep…”

Jack laughs. “Forward, aren’t we?”

“Not like _that_ ,” Ianto hisses.

“Sorry,” Jack says, coughing to hide a second burst of laughter. “What were you saying?”

“I know… this isn’t exactly what you want to hear but...” Ianto frowns. “Maybe I should just show you.”

“Show me what?”

There’s an object that Jack remembers as his small screwdriver sitting on a side table next to a chair that Jack knows for a fact used to be in Ianto’s flat. Ianto picks the tiny screwdriver up, eyes it carefully, and then promptly plunges it into his left hand. Jack gapes at him in horror.

“That… was not pleasant,” Ianto says, no doubt in a world of pain.

“You’re surprised?” Jack moves towards Ianto to do… something, but Ianto holds up his undamaged hand.

He pries the small screwdriver from his hand.

“You’re getting _blood_ all over my carpet,” Gwen cries.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really thinking this through,” Ianto says, screwing his face up in agony.

Jack has no idea what to say. What is he supposed to say? He should say something. Ianto is bleeding profusely onto the carpet, and there’s a hole in his hand, and this is all just a tad too bizarre. He’s beginning to rethink his conclusion that this is reality.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Jack says, staring at the bloody hole in Ianto’s hand.

“No, no,” Ianto says, cupping the hand with his other. “It’ll be fine.”

“In what world is this fine?” Jack asks, flustered.

Then his mouth drops open.

“Shit,” Jack says blankly.

“Yeah.” Ianto nods as they watch the hole in his hand repair itself.

“Christ,” Jack says.

“Uh huh.”

“Fuck.”

Ianto rolls his eyes. “Any more expletives?”

“Maybe.”

“Stop dripping blood on my carpet!” Gwen shrieks.

“Sorry,” Ianto says. “I’ll clean that up.”

Jack follows Ianto to the kitchen as he cleans the blood off his hands.

“How did this-”

“Happen?” Ianto finishes for him. He shrugs. “Time Vortex, apparently.”

“…what?”

Jack listens patiently as Ianto informs him about dying and waking up in the Time Vortex, which sang for him and coalesced into Rose Tyler before his eyes. His heart aches hearing about Rose, but he doesn’t stop Ianto from telling him this. Ianto continues to tell him how he lost his memories, then how they came back all jumbled.

“Why would finding me fix that?” Jack asks.

“Time scrambled my brains,” Ianto says. “You’re a fixed point. Almost like an absence of time. Seeing you and your... lack of time straightened it all out.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Jack folds his arms. “Immortality?”

“Yep.” Ianto folds his own arms, mirroring Jack, and frowns. “And you can’t change that or ‘fix’ it, so don’t bother trying. You’re stuck with me.”

“I’m glad.” It’s only partly true. Jack would rather him not be cursed with immortality. But he’s glad that, if someone’s going to be there throughout all of time with him, it’s going to be Ianto. “How’s Gwen taking that?”

“Oh, pretty well, actually. But she’s been too busy to really think about it.”

“What’s the baby’s name?” He forgot to ask.

“Anwen.”

“Cute.”

“Yeah,” Ianto says with a smile. “She’s pretty adorable.”

“So,” Jack says. “What’re you thinking? Stick around and play fun uncles?”

Ianto snorts. “Gwen’s going to hate us in ten years.”

“Even more reason to do it!”

“You’re incorrigible,” Ianto says with a sigh. “Fine, let's bother Gwen."

And it was the happiest way for Jack to start eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I fully planned one being done with Time Loves You, but then my brain decided it wanted to know what would happen if Ianto knew, and I got stuck writing this. I wrote this in one night and half a morning and then promptly published it because I didn't want to bother even thinking about editing. So it's going to have MISTAKES. Also, newspaper ads? I don't even know. It was midnight.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I hope you have a wonderful day!


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